In the Library

chapter 1

“If there’s any spell to get into Bookland, I’ll chant it day and night and disappear into the fictional world—trust me, Noorie,” I said dramatically, my entire face turning crimson after reading the line, “Do you have anklets, jaan?”

Vidyut Suryawanshi is my current book husband, and trust me when I say books are my safe land—I mean every damn word of it. I just get lost in them.

Noorie sighed in annoyance and muttered,

“Zara sa khwaabon se bahar aaiye, sacchai ko dekhiye, Kashish. Aapko academic padhai mein comeback karna hai. Aap toh w*****d se hi bahar nahi aa pa rahi ho.”

(Come out of your dreams for once and face reality, Kashish. You need to make a comeback in your academics. You’re not even able to step out of Wattpad.)

The taunt was evident in her voice because she was done with my delulu land. I pouted in protest and said,

“Noorjahan, tum bhi ek baar dubki lagao meri kitabon ki duniya mein. Mohabbat na ho jaaye toh kehna.”

(Noorjahan, you should dive into my book world just once. If you don’t fall in love, then tell me.)

“Ji nahi, filhaal humein class jaana hai. Aaj test hai. Aap rahiye apne book boyfriend ke saath,” she replied, gathering her scattered copies from the ground and fixing her dupatta over her shoulder.

(No, thank you. Right now, I need to go to class. There’s a test today. You stay with your book boyfriend.)

Noorjahan Siddiqui—my college mate—very cutesy, gentle, and soft-spoken. A definition of beauty with brains. Always there to help me with everything. And then there’s me—Kashish Bajpai—clumsy, delulu, and permanently lost in a fictional world.

We are poles apart, yet best buddies.

“Arey wait na, Noorie,” I said, grabbing my bag from the ground and walking behind her like a lost puppy.

We entered the classroom and saw other students flipping through pages with frustrated faces, while one of them cursed, “This professor is such a headache, damn. Who takes tests every week? A monster, he is.”

Noorie and I laughed and took our respective seats. I leaned toward her and whispered, “Remember the friends’ code—whatever you write will be on my answer sheet. Whoever breaks this code will be punished.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. I know you didn’t read a single page of that damn civics book, Kashish.”

See? Even if we are poles apart, we are best buddies. I blew her a quick flying kiss just as the professor entered the classroom—fat tummy, curly hair, specs resting on the tip of his nose. Einstein 2.0.

“Students, are you ready for the test?” he asked with pure joy.

Some students sulked, while toppers like Noorie nodded excitedly. Soon, the test started. I attempted three questions, but the rest felt completely out of syllabus for me—because nope, I forgot to read the book. I was busy reading Rooh – His Replaced Bride.

And now, all I could think about was the scene where the MML asks her if she wears anklets. At this rate, I’d top in imagination but fail in reality.

Noorie threw her pen cap at me and muttered, “Write. Here are the answers, you delulu.”

“My baby,” I cooed, earning a glare in return. I quickly wrote down the remaining answers and soon submitted the sheets to the professor.

“Let me tell you what happened next,” I said

She looked at me horrified and replied,

“Aap abhi bhi w*****d ke nashe mein ho? Kya karein aapka, Kashish, hum?”

(You’re still drunk on w*****d? What am I supposed to do with you, Kashish?)

I wrapped my arms around her and said, “Kuch nahi, bas listen to me na, please.”

(Nothing, just listen to me, please.)

She sighed in defeat and finally said,

“Okay, boliye. Aur jaldi kijiye—ghar wapas jaana hai ya nahi?”

(Okay, speak. And hurry up—are we going home or not?)

I love her—the way she listens to me, endures my childish behavior. She’s no less than my Watty boyfriend.

As the day dragged on, I filled her ears with the storyline of the book. She listened, gasped at certain scenes, and asked with growing curiosity, “Her stalker never loved her?”

“He used to take out the hearts of every guy who went after her?”

And just like that, her questions kept coming while I narrated the entire story to her.

After college, the moment I entered my home, Papa’s voice echoed through the hall,

“Why are you late today, Kashish? I don’t like it when you come home late. Don’t you know that?”

That’s it—my whole mood ruined.

It’s not that my parents don’t love me, but Papa being overprotective always takes away the little freedom I have with his strict barriers. Sometimes, it makes me feel so suffocated. But I can’t say anything to him—he’s my father.

“Papa, we had a test,” I replied, keeping my bag on the couch and heading straight toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Cold water for my worsening mood.

He sighed and muttered,

“I don’t know what kind of studies are going on in this new generation of colleges. They even stay open after 4 p.m. Surely, it’s ruining the kids.”

Oh God, not again.

Why can’t they understand that it’s the 21st century with a few changes? My mouth itched to argue, but I knew better—this would only lead to a punishment I wouldn’t like. I can’t risk that little independence of mine by arguing.

He kept mumbling angrily while I gulped down the cold water and directly headed to my room.

“Bag leti jao, Kashish. Sab bolna padta hai iss ladki ko!” Maa yelled.

(Take your bag, Kashish. Everything has to be told to this girl!)

I cursed myself under my breath and, forcing an almost fake smile, walked back into the hall, clutched my bag tightly, and disappeared into my room.

A warm shower and skincare would do good at this moment.

Turning on some Hindi item songs, I swayed my hips to every rhythm and walked into the bathroom, “Halkat Jawani” playing in the background. I let my exhaustion wash away under warm water, the floral body wash adding a soft, comforting touch.

I am hopelessly romantic—with no romance in my life.

I read, fantasize, giggle, and pray for a love like the ones I read in books. But when I look at reality, something inside me shudders in fear. There’s no way a man could ever love like the men I read about.

Yet, I keep praying.

What if my prince charming already exists somewhere, waiting for me—praying to have me in his life?

But then again… does love like the books even exist in real life?

I doubt the answer is no.

Once I was done bathing, I took out my floral, sexy pajamas and my caffeine body lotion that smells like heaven. I poured some into my palm and applied it all over my skin, then slipped into my PJs.

I charged my phone and took out my academic books, hoping they might grab my attention—but no, they don’t have the capability to catch my interest like my w*****d books do.

I closed the book, unlocked my phone, and searched for another forced bride story.

Hmm… let’s dig into this, I thought when I found one.

The academic books lay abandoned on the side, and I—

I got lost in my delulu land with the male lead of the book I was reading.

This is me—delulu, lost in my own imaginary world.